


Judgement

by makesometime



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Oral Sex, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2827409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What would you have me do, Inquisitor?"</p>
<p>She smirks, unable to stop the curve of her lips. She is no benevolent leader, not in this moment.</p>
<p>"Touch me, Captain. We will see how you fare."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Judgement

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a prompt at the kinkmeme for Blackwall going down on the Inquisitor when she's sat on the throne.

She pauses at the top of the stairs, just outside her door, to listen carefully for sounds from the hall and ensure it’s unoccupied. It aches as much as it feels like a minor triumph when Blackwall stops sharply behind her and then takes two steps back, maintaining his distance.

Satisfied that they won’t be disturbed, Tessa starts her descent.

He follows her down the staircase in silence, the space between them feeling both vast and entirely too close all at once. There's an air of penitence to him, which she has to admit (indulgently, selfishly) is exactly what she wants.

She's forgiven him, mostly. It's taken time and trust and effort on both their parts to overcome. A lot of shouting until her throat hurts and her cheeks are wet with tears. A lot of oppressive wordless moments when neither of them can find the right thing to say. But finally things are almost... good again.

This goodness is what allows her mind to wander when he asks one night, his arms wrapped around her, whether she requires anything else of him. To clear her mind, he suggests, to settle her nerves should another of their friends make a snide comment here or there.

So she thinks. She stays awake that night, long after he's fallen asleep holding her, wracking her brain for a suitable task to end this period of adjustment. To bring them full circle and back to the Inquisitor and her Warden ( _close enough_ ), Thom Rainier banished until they're free to think of a future where he might need or want to reappear.

It comes to her as the sun peeks above the horizon, her night's rest patchy and uneasy. It's an odd thought for her to have, to be sure. She's never been an exhibitionist, instead fiercely protective of her privacy. But there's something about the way people look at her when she sits in judgement that makes her feel incredible, the heady mix of confidence and power making it harder to ignore the devil on her shoulder.

That little voice whispers temptation as dawn breaks. The image of Blackwall on his knees in front of her, supplicant, as she judges him anew--

Without the fierce twisting of her gut, the weight of others’ eyes on her as she spares him for as frivolous a reason as _love_ , well... She knows herself well enough to recognise that the appeal of such an image won’t leave her thoughts until she’s dealt with it.

He agrees immediately when she ventures the idea, somewhat to her surprise, and her suspicion that he’s only just awoken and might not be entirely sure what she’s really asking is placated by the spark of heat in his eyes. He wants it too. Tessa sits up a little straighter, brushing her hair out of her eyes, and asks if he’s certain.

“For you my lady?” He says, reaching out to stroke a finger along her cheek. “Anything.”

They agree that it would have to be in the dead of night, the braziers and fires banked down, the staff and night owls almost certain to be absent. They pick an evening guaranteed to have a full moon at least a month in advance.

The anticipation nearly kills her.

But here she is, here _they_ are.

This morning she'd casually (or as close to casual as she could manage, given the reason for her request) asked Josephine to organise the replacement of the Ferelden throne with that of the Inquisition. Her friend had looked puzzled, since the ambassador had been the one to recommend the larger fur-lined throne as an alternative in light of Tessa suffering from the cold – the Inquisitor could hardly _shiver_ during judgement, how ridiculous. As they walk through the door from her chambers into the hall, Tessa sees that Josie came through and makes a mental note to buy the woman something extremely pretty.

She hears Blackwall clear his throat as he walks through behind her and shuts the door, but her steps don’t falter as she approaches the dais. She settles on the throne and crosses her legs, the silken material of her newly-purchased robe parting smoothly. The moonlight shines through the great window behind her and falls on her exposed golden skin, yet as Blackwall moves to stand in front of her his eyes remain firmly on her face.

"On your knees, Captain."

This will be the last time she uses his old title. They've agreed that much as well. But the thrill that passes through her as he obeys the order is certainly a feeling she'll regret to say goodbye to. She sees in the moments he responds alertly to her orders or her spiteful recollections of his position quite what a good soldier he must have been.

Blackwall sinks to the floor, showing no signs of discomfort as his knees pop and he settles on the cold stone. She knows they trouble him sometimes but she forces the sympathy from her mind – this is not the time. His hands rest on his thighs as he looks up at her, and she wants nothing more than to have their palms, calloused and rough, touching every inch of her body.

“What would you have me do, Inquisitor?”

She smirks, unable to stop the curve of her lips. She is no benevolent leader, not in this moment.

“Touch me, Captain. We will see how you fare.”

Tessa forces herself to remain still as he shifts towards her, pausing up on his knees. The chill air is only partially responsible for the way her nipples tighten beneath the robe, and his eyes drop there first, following the outline of her breasts.

“May I?”

She inclines her head, trailing the backs of her fingers down her neck and between her breasts to slightly part the material. Blackwall reaches out to complete the exposure, one warm hand ghosting over her skin as he tucks the robe either side of her chest.

He leans in pull a nipple into his mouth while taking her other breast in his hand and Tessa gasps, her head falling back into the cushioned throne. He suckles there for a time, his teeth scratching intermittently over her captured skin, as he kneads with his hand, his fingers squeezing around her until she is fighting not to thrust into his touch. Without speaking, without showing outward reaction, Blackwall switches to the other side and Tessa cannot hold back a soft cry as cool air kisses at her dampened skin.

They’ve not been together long enough yet for her to remember his talent in this particular area. She knows his hands are learning her weak spots, his tongue is all too talented between her legs at drawing her to release. She knows his cock and how it fills her like they were made for each other. But this is relatively new, her sensitivity unexplored, and she feels herself growing wet as he licks and bites at her chest.

“Enough.” She commands, _has_ to command. For all their careful planning, time is not on their side this night. To get carried away would risk far more than it would ever gain.

To his credit, Blackwall sits back almost immediately, and lifts his eyes back to hers. She must look a sight, her modesty protected only where the tie at her waist remains, her robe hitching further and further up her thigh. And yet he stays steadfastly focussed on her face when at any other time he would be ogling her nakedness, revelling in it.

Tessa parts her legs now, spots the smallest of tics in his cheek as he clenches his jaw at the movement. She smiles to herself, leaning one elbow on the arm of the throne. “Proceed, Captain.”

He growls a little as he moves forward this time, pushing her robe clear and smoothing his hands up her legsand around to hold her backside. He forces his way between her thighs, pulling her forward until she’s spread wide enough to accommodate the width of his shoulders. She feels his panted breaths along her inner thigh, chased by open mouthed, hungry kisses and murmured words that she can't make sense of.

And then his mouth is on her and Tessa bids a happy farewell to most conscious thought.

His beard tickles at the sensitive skin between her legs as he shifts to lick a long, lingering line along her core, tasting the wetness that his earlier actions encouraged. His muffled groan of gratitude rumbles through her and makes her gasp and shift, lifting one leg to rest over his shoulder. Blackwall moves a hand to hold her thigh and the strength of his grip gives her some indication of how badly affected he is by this, by her.

His tongue delves deep into her heat before he flicks over her clit a few times, enough to leave her arching beneath him. He’s far too good at this, she thinks, for a man who’s lived in self-imposed exile for many years. His ability to play her body like a finely tuned instrument, to know when to nip and when to suck, should be a source of minor concern. But for now. For now she wants little else than for him to _keep going_.

She feels him smile against her and realises she must have uttered that thought aloud. He redoubles his efforts in response, sucking harder until she starts to shudder, then backing off to leave her wanting more.

When he slips a finger into her Tessa swears lightly, breathily, tilting her hips to encourage him. Somewhere along the way their dynamic has changed, the power disparity shifting decidedly in his favour. As he slips another finger inside her she clenches down on them and he huffs out a heavy groan into her skin, pressing his mouth to her thigh and sucking hard enough to mark her.

She does cry out, unabashed, when he curls his fingers up and rubs over her front wall, beckoning, encouraging. Searching for the reaction that she's all too willing to give him. The sparks of sensation in her nerves start to tingle more insistently as the warmth in her lower belly starts to spread.

He really is far too good at this.

His mouth presses back to her core, little licks of his tongue all along her sensitive folds until he finds her bundle of nerves once more. He sucks at her as he adds a third finger and Tessa shudders, reaching blindly for him, her hands curling over his shoulders. She's not sure if she's pushing him away or pulling him closer but Blackwall doesn't stop, too eager to for her to break under his ministrations.

She thinks, somewhere deep in her mind, that she recognises the sound of a door opening further down the hall. But she's too far gone to pay it much care, her world little more now than the swirl of his tongue around her clit, the thickness of his fingers curling inside her.

Reaching up now in search of a solid support in the storm, Tessa wraps one hand around the wooden frame of the throne, while her other digs deep into his thick black hair, holding him to her with little concern for his ability to breathe. By the rumbling of his moan and the tightening of his grip on her thigh Blackwall doesn’t seem to mind, pressing even closer to get her to release.

Her orgasm hits like a fireball, hot and burning and almost overwhelming. She thinks she might cry out but her pulse is roaring in her ears too loud for her to tell. All she can be sure of is that she loves this man, loves how he will so selflessly see to her pleasure and then ease her back down without seeking anything for himself in return.

When she manages to draw her eyes open she smiles down at him, cupping a palm to his cheek and drawing him up into a kiss. She knows he enjoys the lingering taste and scent of her on his lips, his beard, and it’s not unappealing as her tongue delves into his mouth in a greedy, grateful kiss.

Then, suddenly. Applause.

"Bravo, darling." A voice says with an almost audible lascivious smile, slow clapping echoing through the hall. "Quite the performance. I didn’t know you had it in you."

She breaks away from the kiss and looks up to see Dorian move from his position leaning against the wall by the fireplace and start walking slowly towards the throne. She’s not certain how long he’s been there, but long enough seems like a reasonable answer. It would perturb her more, were it anyone else; but equally she knows that he’ll rile Blackwall better than almost anyone else could.

Her lover stands quickly to move in front of her but she pushes him aside as she rises to her feet, rearranging her robe to cover her modesty. There’s little on display that Dorian would ever care to see, yet he’s a very present reminder of the risk they took, the risk that seemed so intoxicating only a short while ago.

"You're pushing it, mage." Blackwall grinds out, refusing to yield under the other man's superior air.

"Am I really? It seems our dear Inquisitor gives little care for being caught." Dorian crosses his arms over his chest, smirking. "Having said that, her judgement hasn't exactly been sound recently..."

"Stop it, both of you." Tessa commands, stepping in front of the warrior when he growls and makes to move towards the other man. "I appreciate your concern Dorian, you know I do. But Maker's balls, I'm a grown woman."

Dorian holds his hands up in a motion of supplication, walking back towards wherever it was he came from. "My apologies. Forget I was even here. I'm certainly going to try."

She watches him go with a slightly confused smile and then shakes her head, turning back to Blackwall. He's rigidly still, his anger having burnt out quickly to leave him looking uncertain.

"I'm... sorry." He says, looking down at his feet. "I didn't expect it to end this way."

"It wasn't exactly part of my plan either, love." She says, moving to press up against the welcoming warmth of his chest. When he starts, looking a little stunned, Tessa frowns. "What's wrong?"

There's a hint of colour in his cheek as he replies. "You haven't called me that for what feels like a lifetime."

Melting, she reaches up to take his face in her hands, rubbing her fingers over his beard tenderly. "I do love you, you know. Not many men would have worked this this hard to regain a woman's trust."

"Not many women would have been willing to give it to someone like me." He leans into one of her palms, his eyes falling shut. "It was worth working for."

It’s tempting to linger, to cherish this moment of quiet honesty. But life moves quickly at Skyhold and they’ve had their moment within its constant buzz of life. She reaches down to take his hand, squeezing it tight. “Come on. We’ve pushed our luck too far.”

"Considering what we did it could have ended a lot worse." He snorts, letting her lead him back towards her chambers. "Much as I hate to say it, it could've been a lot worse than the mage."

Tessa laughs, cuddling into his side. "I'll remind you you said that next time he bothers you so much you're spitting nails."

He's silent for a time. "That... may be wise my lady."

When they reach the door to her room, Tessa wanders in without a care, only to find herself alone after a few steps. Turning back, she finds Blackwall framed in the doorway much as he had been the first night he appeared on her balcony.

"What's wrong?" She asks.

She watches as he searches for the right words, the correct way to express whatever stubborn thought continues to concern him. "Who's coming into your room right now?"

"Blackwall. Just Blackwall." She says, crossing back to the door and holding out her arms for him. 

When he walks into her embrace, she presses her mouth to his ear and holds him like she'll never let him go. "Just the man I love."


End file.
